HAHAHAHA GEEZ.

Okay, I don't know if I should even post this for fear of sounding like I'm completely full of myself, but I found it both a) kinda awesome and b) kinda depressing.

I am, officially, the smartest person in my accounting class. You know that group work I was bitching about a few posts back? The one that wasn't for a grade? The one I pretty much did for my entire group, by dictating what to write to the one chicky?

Yeah.

Apparently my teacher felt that it was a contest, and he declared winners? And my group? Won.

Which means, essentially, I won, because nobody else in the group did jack shit.

He felt the need to read aloud the names of the winning group, which I was silently praying he WOULDN'T do, because I felt like I really had no right to be the "winner" of this stupid thing, because it was SO MIND BOGGLINGLY EASY. But whatever.

It's time for Glenn Beck's newsletter that I know you've been waiting with bated breath all week to read! This one is a good example of why I love him so much, despite the fact that I actually disagree with him on a lot of stuff. I don't have any particular sense of hatred for the French, but he's so hilariously cute about it, even though I kinda want to smack him in the head for it. OH GLENN BECK, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

I think Joss Whedon is starting to fear that I'm worshipping a false idol. Don't worry, Joss, you're still #1 in my book.

Vivre le France? Um, I dont think so. by Glenn Beck

It’s almost too easy—everybody picks on France. I mean, they’re France. It’s easy to take cheap shots at a country whose people wear berets with absolutely no sense of irony. Really—go to France and you’ll see people walking around with berets on and you’ll end up thinking, “no—they’re not really wearing berets,” only yes—they really are. They think they look good in them! Like I said, they’re France.

Then there’s the whole, “WWII-surrender to the Nazis” thing. Let’s just say the French didn’t exactly play hard to get. And yes, we had to march in and save them, berets and all. So when their president—Jacques Chirac—had to go and do something just plain dumb yesterday, well—you know that problem I sometimes have with the blood shooting out of my eyes? Yup---it started shooting. I mean, it’s not exactly hard to hate the French for all the easy reasons like Gerard Depardieu and the accordion, but now this Chirac character is actually causing trouble on the international stage. He’s saying that he doesn’t want to set a new deadline for Iran to suspend their nuclear activities…which could be used to develop frickin’ nuclear weapons by the way…despite Tehran's defiance of U.N. Security Council demands. Sacre bleu!

Chirac has also suggested that we drop the threat of sanctions against Iran, saying, “We are committed to negotiations and therefore to dialogue.” That’s big talk for a guy who sounds like a Matri Di every time he opens his mouth.

Hey Frenchy—remember, applying sanctions is what we do when we’re trying to be nice, since they’re usually much more well received than air strikes. If we drop the threat of sanctions, well…we might as well throw them a pizza party for the love of Pete. Have you forgotten that the Middle East is developing the technology necessary to make atomic bombs and they’re itching to wage a full-fledged holy war? Remember Jacques--Iran hates France just as much as everybody else does. I mean, you’re France.

So while I remain on record as citing France as a hindrance to effectively dealing with Iran and their threat to the West, I will grudgingly admit to liking some things that are French. For instance:

*I like French fries, especially from McDonalds…but I believe that’s a Scottish establishment, so they don’t really count.

*I like French movies, but not really for the acting, directing or cinematography. See, sometimes these movies have delightful young French actresses who have tremendous…um, “presence” that you can’t help but admire. That Sophie Marceau? C’est Magnifique!

*Lastly, I like old Jerry Lewis movies and so do the French, and even though old Jerry (and I do mean old—he looks creakier than his old partner Dean Martin and Dino’s been dead since 1995) is American, I’m including him as something French simply because I couldn’t think of anything else.